La Rouyame
by Jiia-chan
Summary: [AU, Yaoi] These are not the Sohmas you know and love. These Sohmas are different. Stronger. Darker. People made for a life that went out of existance more than five hundred years ago. These are the Sohmas in 8th century A.D. ON HIATUS
1. The Battle for Cherry Hills

Hello, fellow FruitsBasket Lovers. It is I, Jiiachan, who may or may not be well-known for such works as Hurrah for Valium, Poke and numerous others. Welcome to La Royame, my newest and most ambitious work to date. This will be very, very long. If you want to see the end of something in a few weeks, or even months, don't read this. I fully expect this to stretch to years. There will be around 72 chapters, and quite possibly more that 700 pages.

Like I said, it is long.

Also, these are not the Sohmas we know. I have taken them and warped them, transported back in time to what could very well be late 8th century France or England, and watched them adapt. Thier basic characteristics and interactions are the same, but thier roles are really quite different. Yuki, for example, is a cold and ruthless military commander. Not to much of a stretch, really. It is the same for them all. It is quite possible for them to have fit these roles, had the lovely auther chosen to make her story medival.

A NOTE- I am not a historian. I have no time for research either. So, instead of making it purely historical, I have made up my own little fantasy land of Ecir. Anything that doesn't jive with reality... Well, just tribute that to my over-active imagination. Also, I will be posting some art for this over in Deviant Art eventually. My username is Jiia-chan.

ANOTHER NOTE- I need characters. Random people, mostly, who usually die within the chapter. Still, there are others whom I need. The first person who can correctly guess where the unusal names I come up with in each chapter come from will get to have thier character make a cameo appearance, although they very well might be slightly modified to fit the storyline. For example, for this chapter, you could guess at the meaning behind the name of Ecir, Kerris, Torrac, Souris, Kakerot, and.. .The Claws I guess. Things like Sakura and Cherry Kingdom are a little too obvious. NOTE- Kerris is a date. It's basically the equivalent of March. Ecir is the name of the continent. Torrac are the 'bad guys' Yuki and the others are fighting. Souris is the name of Yuki's knights. Kakerot is the Torracan capital city. Oh, and I expect not only the show from whence I stole it, but also why it's appropriate for the Torracs.

Anyways, thanks for listening to my drabble. Talk to you along the way!

The Battle of Cherry Hills

Yuki

Kerris 20th, mid-morning.

The Shadow Valley cut a dark line between the two warring countries. The steep, narrow vale had been a natural barrier between them for centuries, keeping the rival nations apart better than any wall. It was neutral ground, home to a people strange and alien to both parties. These pale, wraithlike 'Shadowlanders' had desperately kept the peace, painfully aware that any battle between their neighbours would inevitably be fought in their own lands. It had worked, too, for almost four hundred years.

But now, a thousand of the pale, dark-haired soldiers of the Cherry Kingdom surged down the steep valley walls to meet the red-haired, darkened horde that was the Torracan army. Where a pure stream of water had once flowed, a red mire of darkened waters pulsed through the tangled undergrowth of the valley. On either side, the tall, ancient trees had been cut to make way for cities of tents and war machines. The fires of war darkened the azure sky, making day seem like night, and night seem like one had gone blind. For all the Shadowlander's efforts, their home had still been turned into a field of battle.

High up upon the rocky hills that rimmed the Sakuran side of the valley, a young man watched the constant ebb and flow of battle. Even from that distance, the din of warfare was almost loud enough to drown out his thoughts. Almost, but not quite. His chin-length silver hair, the trademark of his Saernan heritage, blew gently with the soft spring breeze. His infamous purple eyes, unusual not in their colour, for all the people of the Cherry Kingdom bore eyes of indigo or lavender, but in their startling intensity, gazed out upon the chaos below with the same detached boredom with which he viewed everything. The flickering war-fires set spectres of light dancing across his polished silver armour, making the delicate patterns engraved upon its smooth surface shine. Despite his relatively small stature, thin frame and rather effeminate features, he stood with the confidence of a man used to being in charge. With his long, lean arms folded across his lithe chest, he looked like the prince of some ancient country, come back from the dead to lead his troops to battle.

It wasn't that far from the truth.

He was Yuki Sohma, the Snow Prince, member of the royal Sohma family, captain of the Souris Knights, and the acting commander of the battle being fought not a mile below. He was both famous and infamous, to both males and females, on every side of the war, and for every reason imaginable. His physical beauty was much talked about in every ale-house from Kakerot to Sakura City. He had even had a rather astonishing number of songs written about him, ranging from the mildly flattering to the totally obscene. His military genius was said to be rivalled only by that of his older brother, the just-as-well-known General Ayame Sohma. Several tunes had been penned about that portion of him as well, although these were usually less likely to be quite as pornographic. Still, it was not any fleeting physical charm, nor was it any number of military miracles he had performed, which had earned him his most renowned of titles.

The Snow Prince of the Shining Country could be, and quite often was, one cold son of a bitch.

Therefore, it was not without reason that young Sergeant Kakeru approached the brooding man with more than a little caution. Easing up next to him, all the while being mindful not to inadvertently sneak, the Sergeant cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Captain? The Claws are ready." The young man flicked his eyes to the Prince's face, trying to gauge whatever reaction there might be.

There wasn't any.

"Thank you, Sergeant." The Prince said, only just loud enough to be heard over the roar of battle.

" Lieutenant Hatsu!" The captain glanced over his shoulder at the waiting archer. "Prepare the signal."

With a nod and a grin, the black-haired man dipped the tip of his arrow into the flaming bowl before him and knocked his arrow, taking aim at the deepest region of the sky.

Yuki turned back towards the battlefield. His deep purple eyes seemed to pick up on every little detail, every tiny movement among all the thousands upon millions of tiny movements going on during each individual instant. Far from glazing over, they seemed to sharpen to an almost unbearable point, so intense as to make Kakeru uncomfortable. The young sergeant swore he saw one of the red-haired Torracan warriors look up at them, as if feeling the prince's eyes from all that long way away.

"Lieutenant, unleash all hell." His silky smooth voice held not a hint of a laugh, not the faintest tremor of a smile.

"Yes sir!" Hatsu grinned, and loosed the flaming arrow into the dark, smoky abyss that the firmament had become.

Yuki finally tore his eyes from the conflict below. He turned upon Kakeru, smiling a smile as cold as naked steel and just about as comforting.

"Care to join me for tea, Sergeant? Don't worry over the battle, friend. Our dear friend will take care of all the ugliness for us."

Without waiting for an answer, Yuki walked off in the general direction of the Officer's tents. Kakeru stood still for a moment, but then followed doggedly behind his young leader. After all, it was not every day he was allowed the privilege of tea with royalty.

As for Yuki, he honestly wasn't worried. Never had he fought a battle with the full terror of the Claws of the Cherry Kingdom and lost. The orange devil hadn't let him down yet, and he doubted he would do so today. Not against the misshapen rabble the Torrac had thrown against them. He would win, with enough time left over for the strange fighter to join him and his brother for supper.

In Kyo, he had absolute confidence.

So, how'd you like it? Good? Bad? Horrible? Don't know yet? Give me your opinion! Also, get going with those guesses. I need a character for chapter 2.


	2. Aftermath, Part One

Firstly... I AM SO SORRY!! I really didn't mean for it to take this long to update. I swore this would be the fanfiction I was really strict about writting... But there was so much other stuff going on... I'll try and be better in the future. This is actually part one of two chapters, but I encountered a slight problem. In order to write the second half, I need a character. I was planning on taking one from one of the people who guessed correctly. BUT THEY DIDN'T SIGN THEIR REVIEWS, DID THEY?!?!!? And they didn't give thier emails either. In the future, please send your email, or username, and a short description of your character so I can decide where to put them. Thank you.

You may now continue reading.

* * *

Aftermath, Part One.

Kerris 20th, early evening.

"Another glorious victory!" The general exclaimed happily, flopping back onto the cumbersome throne he insisted they carry with them everywhere.

The young captain sighed, taking a seat in his own, more modest seat, right next to the confused young sergeant.

"No thanks to you." He growled, almost pouting behind his beautiful silvery hair.

"Whatever do you mean, my dearest little brother?" Ayame grinned, looking no more innocent than the snake that he was. "Surely you understand the importance of delegation."

Yuki snorted, rolling his eyes at the rather… eccentric officer. Kakeru had never seen him acting so… lively. On the battle field, he was always the prince of ice and snow, untouched by all around him. To see him moved to such childish behaviour, even by the undoubtedly irritating Iris General, was shocking to the young sergeant.

Ayame gasped, putting on a good show of being offended.

"Really, Yuki! Whilst you were out winning me the valley, I was in here, plotting our next offensive. I couldn't have done that if I were out there, getting myself all sweaty and tired fighting a minor skirmish." The general flipped his long white hair out of the way, almost as if to emphasize the lack of grime coating all the rest of them.

Yuki glared at him, his chill violet eyes freezing the very air between him and his brother. His hands lay open on the table, perfectly within his control, and yet stiff, at the ready. They spoke, those slender, beautiful hands. The Snow Prince was a dangerous man. Like the avalanches of the high mountains, beautiful calm could become raging power in a matter of seconds. General Ayame was treading thin ice, as it were.

"Twelve of my men lost their lives in this minor skirmish, 'dearest brother'." His voice was venom, dripping from hidden fangs. "Twelve of my men are never going home. Do no cheapen their loss."

Ayame paused, just for a moment. He paused, as if to see just how far he could go before his brother broke. Just how far he could push. And then he smiled.

"Twelve of our men against how many hundreds of theirs? Two? Three? Really, Yuki, you must review the law of equivalent exchange! We were fighting four to one against a bloodthirsty horde of savages! The God of Luck must have truly smiled upon us today, for the cost to have been so 'cheap'!" The general's eyes sparkled, and he grinned at some point between the two soldier's heads. "Although, it wasn't all the God's doing. The devil helped a little too. Well done, cousin!"

Yuki just smiled in his strange, quiet way and shook his head. Kakeru blinked and frowned, looking over his shoulder.

Standing at the door to the tent was the legendary Claws of the Cherry Kingdom.

"Lieutenant!" Kakeru squeaked, leaping to his feet. "What in the name of all that is holy happened to you?!?!"

It was Yuki's turn to frown and turn his head. As energetic as Kakeru could be, he had never known the young man to be startled by anything, let alone curse. Especially in a religious pretext. He was not one of Sister Mayuko's best students.

Yuki found himself throwing out a curse or two himself at the sight of the young warrior. He had seen the infamous warrior covered in all sorts of filth, but never, never to this degree.

It was as if he had been through a rainstorm of gore. The form-fitting leather uniform of the Claw Light Infantry had undoubtedly been ruined. The blood had soaked into both the shirt and pants so badly it would probably never come out. His boots had been brought from shiny black to a murky burgundy by the sheer amount of material splattered over them. It was his leather bracers which had gotten the worst of it, however. Considering the Claw's preferred fighting style, it wasn't surprising that his arms would take the most of the punishment, both in the form of wounds and dirt, but to Yuki's trained gaze, it seemed less like the fighter had been clawing out throats and more like he had been embedding his arms up to the elbows in whatever unfortunate Torrac who happened to get in the way. Speaking of which, his weapons were still attached to his hands. The long, slender blades strapped to the ends of each of his strong fingers were only dulled a fraction by the mire coating them from tip to glove.

Yuki knew, beyond a doubt, that that all of that blood was the blood of the Torrac Horde. He knew it. No way the seemingly invincible warrior would allow himself to get gored by a bunch of constricted farm hands.

But that didn't stop the instant, irrational terror that gripped his very soul.

Kyo looked at Kakeru, as if confused as to his presence in the officer's tent. He then turned his strangely Torracan eyes to his own hands. He blinked, looking just about as startled by the mess as the rest of them were. With a grunt and a noncommittal shrug, he made his way over to his own chair and plopped down, beginning the long and complicated process of removing his gloves without killing himself.

"You see, darling brother," Ayame smirked, leaning forward to taunt him. "Unlike you, Kyonitchikun here actually goes into battle with his troops. He doesn't stand up on a hill and give orders like some frozen son-of-a-bitch god."

"You're one to talk!" Yuki snapped, ripping off his own unstained metal gauntlet and inadvertently bouncing it off Kyo's unsuspecting head. "You stayed in the tent the whole time!"

"Delegation!" Ayame made a flippant gesture with one hand which served to simultaneously dismiss Yuki's claims and pluck the gauntlet from Kyo's confused hands.

"No excuse!" Yuki growled, somehow transformed entirely from the 'frozen son-of-a-bitch' he had been only moments before. "This is your command, not mine! Why don't you do what's expected of you, for once in your life?!?!"

He knew it was stupid. He knew it was a totally idiotic thing to do, to insult the First General of the most powerful military force in the world. Especially since he was Yuki's boss, and would be completely justified in executing him for insubordination. He knew he was completely ruining his image. But he couldn't help it. Twelve men under his command had lost their lives that morning, and eight more had been severely wounded. He had stood 'up on a hill' and watched his friends and comrades in arms walk off into hell. And yet he could have, should have been able to handle all that. He'd seen it many times over his four years fighting the Torrac. It was actually relatively mild compared to the bloody battles he had weathered, down on the field, shoulder to shoulder with his knights.

The bloodshed shouldn't have bothered him. It shouldn't have made him scared. In fact, as far as he could tell, it wasn't. It wasn't frightening him any more than it had on any other occasion. It was something else.

Had to be.

"Oh really now, Yuki." Ayame laughed, the strangely terse sound snapping him back into reality. "As if you've always done as expected. If you had, you'd be dealing with dear Aki-chan right now, just like a good son should, not out in the field swinging swords around."

Everything stopped. Ayame seemed to bite back his tongue, as if he had suddenly realized exactly what he was saying, and in front of whom. Kyo winced, sinking back into his chair as if he could disappear inside it entirely, and thus completely avoid any involvement in the situation at all. Kakeru looked interested, but confused. He didn't quite understand what was going on between the two brothers, but he'd take family drama over people trying to kill him any day.

Yuki took a deep breath, forcing his hands to release their hold on the edge of the table. He pushed himself to his feet, refusing to look at the _creature_ across the table.

"I'm leaving."

And that was that.

He slid out the flap, completely ignoring Ayame's protests. Nothing Ayame said could touch him. Nothing could touch him.

He wasn't going to let it.

"Uh…" Kakeru watched the flap fall closed, frowning in confusion. "What just happened?"

"I insulted his poor little feelings." Ayame quite literally stuck his tongue out, turning back to the plans before him. "Momiji! Where is that boy? I need to dictate a letter."

The young yellow-haired boy popped out of nowhere, appearing from a flap in the tent Kakeru hadn't even seen. He bounced over to the General's table, whipping out a sheet of parchment and some charcoal.

"Ready, General!" The boy beamed, already scribbling the date in the corner.

Kyo scoffed, hauling himself to his feet in a bizarrely feline manner. Judging by the slightly disgusted expression on his face, he had absolutely no interest in hanging about with the two rather enthusiastic characters if he didn't have to. To be quite honest, Kakeru was of a similar mind. For all that his commanding officer made him nervous, he much preferred the peaceful silence to the constant jabber promised by the young page's arrival.

The two of them made their exit, completely unnoticed by the remaining occupants of the tent. Kyo began walking immediately, striding confidently in the general direction of the medical tents.

"Is the captain going to be all right?" Kakeru rushed to catch up, eyeing the warrior with concern.

"He'll be fine." The young man grunted, the first words he'd spoken since entering the tent.

"But I don't understand. Who's 'Aki-chan'? He couldn't have meant…"

"Yup." Kyo still refused to look at him, never once slowing in the seemingly leisurely pace that made Kakeru, a trained army man himself, almost run to keep up.

"But that can't be right. If Aki-chan is who I think it is, then that would mean…"

"Yup."

Kakeru finally gave up, stopping dead in the middle of the Sakuran encampment. He watched Kyo go, feeling the knowledge well up inside him, filling him till he wanted to scream it to the whole world, all else be damned. As it was, be barely managed to summon the courage to whisper it, under his breath, so no one but the evening breeze could hear.

"Don't tell anyone, you hear?" The prince's voice behind him didn't startle him in the least. He would have been almost disappointed if the infamous young man had stayed away. "The only ones who know are you and my brothers. And that idiot, of course."

Kakeru smiled, watching said 'idiot' stride into the medical tent, apparently completely forgetting that he was still covered in blood. Even as the screaming began, he turned back to the royal personage behind him.

"Don't worry. I won't tell a soul." Kakeru smirked, suddenly confident now that the grand mystery of Yuki was a little bit less mysterious.

Yuki frowned, suddenly intensely suspicious of the daring young man who'd served in his unit for almost as long as he had.

"It doesn't bother you? Knowing what you know?" The prince approached him cautiously, almost as if wary of some sort of attack.

"Of course not." Kakeru forced his smirk to turn into a friendly smile, attempting to radiate warmth right through Yuki's cold exterior. "Doesn't bug me in the slightest. In fact, I think it's kinda cool."

Yuki sighed, the relief visible on his normally expressionless face. He ran his slender hand though his silver hair in a gesture that seemed strangely normal, in absolute defiance of the myth built up around him.

"All right. Great. No problems then." Yuki, too, began walking off in the general direction of the med tents.

"Nope, no problems." Kakeru followed, watching the young man's face closely as they went. "But there is one thing."

"What is it now?"

"What do I call you? I mean, I can't just call you 'Captain'. That would be weird."

"Well, what did you have in mind?"

"How 'bout… Yun-Yun? Cute, don't you think?"

"… Go to hell."

"Ok then. Your Majesty it is."

"If you even think about it, I'll have you drawn and quartered."

"Whoa, whoa! No need to get testy, Yun-Yun."

"… You are a manipulative bastard, Sergeant."

"So I've been told, Yun-Yun, so I've been told."

* * *

Mwahaha. I am a sadistic bitch. Send me reviews! It makes me write more. And if you want your character in here, please send me your email adress, a short description of your character, and the origins of the Torrac city of Kakerot and why it is appropriate to the Torracan people. Just so you know, I need a Torracan spy, preferably male or an prideful female. Someone with something to prove. Also, I need a couple of infantry men. My friends are tired of me stealing thier characters. Please help! Mwahaha.

See you next time on La Royame! Aftermath, part two!


	3. Aftermath, Part Two

_Oh my good god honey bunches of oats... How long has it been since I've updated this thing? That's just crazy... Anyways, sorry for the break. I got a bit stuck on this chapter and moved on to greener pastures where the muses still ran free. But now I have rediscovered my Furabura muse, and they want medieval angst. Who am I to deny them? Anyways... This is the chapter which really starts to show the differences between the real characters and these ones. For example... Komaki is a man. Mostly because I was looking for a character to have on the edge of death, and the situation presented itself perfectly. Also... If maleXmale relationships bother you, just stop reading now. This isn't a fic you're going to like._

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Aftermath, Part Two

Kerris 20th, evening.

"Aw, shucks, cap'n!" The soldier rasped, barely managing to keep down a fit of bubbly, wet coughing. "You didn' have ta come visit lil' ol' me!"

Yuki gave off one of his trademark smiles. Cold and beautiful, and, in this case, just a little bit sad.

"Of course I did, Komaki. You're one of my men. I had to come and make sure the nurses were treating you properly."

An explosion of giggles erupted out from behind a nearby cot. Half a dozen little white hats bobbed up and down as the 'hiding' fan girl nurses whispered amongst themselves. Whispered. As if Yuki didn't know they were there. As if the whole **camp **didn't know where every member of the female persuasion the army had dragged along with them had suddenly disappeared to.

Well… Almost every member.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that, Captain." A vein of ice ran down Yuki's back like the long inky hair suddenly falling over his shoulder like a black waterfall. "We're taking care of him just fine. Aren't we, 'Komaki'?"

Yuki didn't have to turn his eyes to catch the icy 'say no and die' look his darling cousin was undoubtedly shooting at the poor injured soldier. It was obvious, given the expression of sheer terror gracing the man's already pale features. Thus, it was no surprise when the man nodded as vehemently as his wounded state would allow.

"Good." He could almost feel her smiling next to his ear, that eerie, discomforting smile which had given her the nickname of 'queen of the faerie'. "May I talk to you for a moment, dearest cousin?"

"Of course, Isuzu." Yuki answered through gritted teeth, standing woodenly and following the black-draped nurse out of the little 'room' curtained off by various collections of holes attempting to be curtains.

It really didn't matter to Isuzu who Yuki was, or what they called him, or how pretty or perfect or invincible he seemed. To her, he was just a walking sack of meat in a suit of armour, just waiting for her elegant battle-field butchery. Although… For all that the cold, off-putting woman scared even him, there was no one save the High Surgeon Hatori himself Yuki would rather entrust the proper treatment of his wounds to.

The woman suddenly whirled, the black curtain of her hair billowing out like the skirt of a dancer at a funeral.

"How many of your knights have you sent to the Faerie Lands today, Captain?" She asked, her voice just as cold and callous as always.

"Twelve." He said with a weary sigh.

This wasn't going to be good news.

"Better bump that up to thirteen. That poor sob's not going to be with us much longer." She grabbed one of the re-writable chalk boards from a passing nurse, drifting off to the cot inhabited by the unfortunate soul whose basic information had been hastily scribbled on the board.

"Is there nothing you can do for him?" Yuki looked over his shoulder at the poor man. "Not even for one of your cousin's friends?"

Isuzu scoffed.

"You don't have any friends. But yes, he could be saved. If the entire medical staff devoted their attention solely to him for the next two days." She whirled again, catching him full in the face with her sweeping hair and fixing him with her signature scrutinizing glare. "Is his life worth that much effort, Cousin?"

Yuki sighed, pushing his hand through his silver hair and bringing an appreciative sigh from the horde of fan girls who had not-so-stealthily crawled along at his heels.

"No. If you did that, then many more would die." He cast a sorrowful glance at the dying man. "It is a shame. He was a good soldier. He will be sorely missed."

Isuzu nodded. Her expression changed suddenly, and she took on a sad look herself.

"Yuki… I know you do not take stock in such things, but…" She looked around, leaning in conspiratorially and drawing a jealous screech from the fan girls. "Saki-san has one of those feelings. Something bad is going to happen, very soon."

The prince grit his teeth, not exactly enjoying the thought of his cousin's young protégé. The distant girl made him almost as uncomfortable as her mentor did. Still, he couldn't deny the eerie accuracy of her 'feelings'. If Hanajima Saki said something bad was coming, it was Yuki's experience that she was usually right.

"All right. Thank you for the warning, Isuzu." Yuki sighed again. "I'll keep it in mind. Do your best to make him… All of them… as comfortable as possible, all right?"

"Of course I will. That's my job, after all." Isuzu scoffed.

Yuki didn't bother to point out the lingering expression of terror still plastered on the man's face from his last encounter with the nurse.

He took one last look at his dying knight, bid his cousin farewell, and walked out into the cool night air.

Kakeru slid into step behind him, watching the captain's carefully blank expression with concern.

"How are they? Will they make it?" The black-haired sergeant bit his lip, glancing back at the blood-stained tent behind them.

"Arir and Jheydon are fine. Arir will be back for the morrow's offensive, but Jheydon'll see no more battle quite a while." Yuki gave a strange sigh caught half-way between sadness and exasperation. "I volunteered you to cut down his share of the horde, by the way."

Kakeru blinked. It was impossible to tell if the princeling spoke in jest or not, but either way... It was a very un-Yuki-like thing to do. Watching the captain's lavender eyes darken, however, the young knight suddenly knew all too well the fates of his comrades.

"And... the others?" He asked in a whisper, turning his eyes to the twin silver moons shining down through the smoky clouds.

The captain paused, contemplating the boot-churned muck beneath their feet as if he thought to find the answer to the sergeant's question written in the earth itself.

"Samson and Janice both lost their sword-hands, Samson at the wrist and Janice half-way up. Banu shall never be able to walk properly again. Matchi will never bear a child, and Naohito will spend the rest of his life confined to one of Hatori's 'miracle chairs'."

Kakeru grimaced. Although he and Naohito had never really gotten along, he still cared for his fellow soldier. To be trapped within one of the wheeled chairs the High Surgeon had designed was a fate he wished upon no one, not even the poor, shivering Torrac scum he had slaughtered that very morning. And poor Matchi... Although the antisocial young woman seemed repelled by the very idea of being with a man, her love of children was as clear as the perpetual scowl upon her face. And as for the others... He loved them like brothers. Their pain hurt him as much as his own.

But there was still one name left over.

"What..." Kakeru cleared his throat, cursing the sudden burning behind his dark eyes. "What of Komaki? Is he... alright?"

The prince paused once more. His striking lilac eyes slid up to meet his comrade's deep grey, allowing the invisible wall of ice and snow standing between them to melt just enough for the other man to glimpse the painful resignation deep within them.

Kakeru's gauntleted hand flew to his mouth as the young man choked back a strangled sob. Yuki looked away, allowing his fellow warrior some small measure of privacy as his unwilling tears began to flow.

"I'm sorry, Kakeru. I know you to were... Close. He remains within this world, for now, but it will not be long before the Faerie take him home."

Were Yuki any other, he would have put his hand upon his fellow's shoulder, made some small attempt to comfort the man before him. But he was not any other. He was Yuki Sohma, Captain of the Shining Army and Prince of the Cherry Kingdom. He was the ice-bound angel who had sent Kakeru's lover to his death.

He didn't have the right.

"Go to him, Sergeant. See him through to the other side."

The tearful young man nodded, gratitude the prince didn't deserve shining out from his glimmering eyes. Without another word, he turned and stumbled through the bloody muck to the tent where his beloved lay.

Yuki stood in the bustling silence, alone amid a literal army. Not even the awed whispers of his obsessive following could reach his sorrow-dulled ears. Had he the choice, he would have lain down right there in the dirt and the mud and the gore, and gone to sleep till everyone else had passed beyond the Faerie Gates and peace at last returned to the Shadow Valley.

But he was a prince, and a captain, and something else besides. He was an instrument of Fate, and that strange lady would not let him rest.

Not yet.

"You are a cruel man, Master Yuki." An eerie, all-too-familiar voice crept under his defences, slipping into his mind like weeds between the cobblestones. "Why keep him waiting? Why not just break his heart and get it over with?"

He turned his cold eyes towards the slender girl drifting out of the shadows, little more than a hazy darkness herself in the simple black shifts of the Sakuran medics. Even her moon-pale skin seemed to hold a strange, dark sheen, as if more prone to shadows then skin had any right to be. Only her brilliant lavender eyes, so very much like his own, seemed to catch the faintest glimmer of light.

"Are such things as compassion truly so far removed from you that you have ceased to recognize their existence, Saki-san?" The ice he had allowed to melt from his gaze returned full force, seeping into his voice and making the gaggle of girls hiding behind a barrel of ale let out a collective whimper.

The dark-haired girl seemed completely unfazed. She slid through the night, coming closer to him then any of the others ever dared. There was no smile upon her pale lips, but mirth glittered nonetheless behind her purple eyes.

"No, not quite, my Prince. I see it still... Just not in you." She tilted her head to the side, the dark braid of her hair slithering over her shoulder like a black serpent.

His slender hands clenched at his side. There were times, like that very moment, when he felt totally certain that this bizarre young girl _knew_ about him. She knew who and what she was, better even than he. Before her eerie gaze, all his secrets were laid bare, even those he kept from himself.

"You care for your men, of course, of that I have no doubt. You grieve for them, as they would grieve for you. But that is not compassion. You do not cry for another's loss. It simply isn't in you." She pushed herself up onto the tips of her black slippers, coming up eye-to-eye with the willowy young man. "Compassion is a weakness that you have never been allowed."

The captain took in a shaking breath, ignoring her unsettling proximity and the irrational thrill of fear working its way up his normally stoic spine. He had weathered a hundred battles, faced a thousand enemies, and lived his life alongside his older brother. He refused to let this little girl with the all-seeing eyes frighten him.

"So what is it then, if not compassion?" He growled through grit teeth. "What made me hesitate before shattering the world of one of my most faithful brothers-at-arms?"

A quirk of the lips, the faint shadow of a smile, and she was too close to see, whispering her response against his cheek like some clandestine lover speaking secrets, the ghost-like touch of her spindly fingers ghosting over his shoulder in a disturbing parody of the gesture Yuki himself had so longed to make. The agonized shriek of his faithful following should have been more than loud enough to drown her out, and yet her every word was as loud as the pounding of his heart.

"Fear, my Prince. His loss might one day be yours, and that shakes you to your very bones."

She slid away, half invisible in the gathering darkness. He took a stumbling step back, many moments too late, pale eyes wide in the twilight. He touched his cheek as if her very breath had burnt him.

"I... I do not... I am not..." He stuttered, unable to think clearly in the uncertain haze her touch had inflicted upon him.

It seemed in the half-light that she smiled, a dark, cruel expression that was just as comforting as the unsettling brush of her fingers. She sunk deeper into the shadows, becoming one with them and fading piece by piece until only her eyes were left.

"Do not worry, Master Yuki. Your loss will take place in a whole other world, in a whole other life. For now, there are other things which need your attention."

The shadows closed around her, and she was gone, as suddenly and completely as she had arrived. His followers huddled amongst one another, providing each other with comfort and an eager ear for the many plots of revenge already taking form.

He took a step back, and then another. With an exercise in will worthy of the Unnamed God himself, he forced himself to become calm once more. He closed his eyes and carefully re-built the walls of ice that should have shielded him from the likes of Hanajima Saki. When those lavender orbs drifted open once more, they were just as serene as they ever had been. Only the faintest of blushes remained to tell the tale of his strange encounter.

A desperate cry rent the air. He gracefully turned towards the black-haired officer stumbling towards him through the mud. Lieutenant Hatsu slid to a stop, panting for breath with his hands braced against his knees.

"Sir! There's bin a... There's bin..." The young man gasped between heavy breaths. "God damn it... Torrac in the camp!"

Yuki felt his eyes widen once more. The watch had been set by his cousin's men, his fellow members of the infamous Claw. They were some of the best warriors in the world, and by far the most observant. The idea of one of the starving rabble the Torracans had thrown against them that morning making it past them unseen was absurd, to say the least.

"What?! Where? How did they get past the sentries?" He felt himself getting angry, and for once didn't try to stop it. There were too many things, too many thoughts, too many emotions. He simply refused to deal with them all.

"He was tryin' ta sabotage the cannon, sir." The young man looked up at him with one navy eye shut tight, still struggling for breath. "As fer the rest, well, I don't really know, seein' as how my dear brother started tryin' ta kill 'im a'fore any o' us managed ta ask."

Yuki swore. He heard quite a few of his followers gasp, and knew that his 'princely' image was going to have a rough night indeed. Without another word to the exhausted lieutenant, he took off into the night, silver armour glinting in the light of the double moons.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

* * *

_Note: In the language of the Sakuran people, the word 'vaere (f-har-ae)' meant, quite literally, death. When the first Shadowlander settlers crossed over the mountains, they thought that the Sakurans were mispronouncing the word 'fairy (fae-ree)', which was a term used to describe the typical mischievous imps out of any folk tale. After centuries of co-minging the two languages, the Saeran equivalent, 'Faerie (faer-ai)' was born. It is used to refer, not to playful spirits of a magical nature, but rather the spirits of the dead. In other words, ghosts. Therefore, Faerie lands the afterlife. (In case you're wondering, "Rin" would be the shortened form of Isuzu's nickname, 'Seros eyr Faer-in.')_

_Note2: Although the entire Cherry Kingdom speaks one singular language, Saeran, there are still traces of the local tongues in the various dialects. The coastal people tend to speak with sharp vowels and softer constants, the exact opposite of the Plains Dialect of Sakura City Yuki would be used to. If thought of in terms of Earthly dialects, Hatsu and Haru would sound like a native of Ireland, possibly with a little Scottish mixed in, while Yuki would pronounce things with an accent similar to that of an American. In an interesting side note… Kyo speaks with a southern mountain accent, with long vowels and short, sharp constants, with a melodic variance of pitch quite similar to that of a Korean or Chinese immigrant. Momiji speaks with an accent from the northernmost mountain regions, comparable to a Slavic, or Russian, accent, with emphasis on the constants and quiet, almost soundless vowels, although it has been watered down with the standard Sakura City accent for quite some time. Ayame has learned to speak with the accent of the Traunil, a nation of islanders off the coast of the Cherry Kingdom who have been trading partners with them for quite some time, just to be contrary. (He thinks it makes him more seem more sophisticated.) This would be the equivalent of a higher English accent._

_Oh yes, Hatsu and Haru (who are two different people) are Irish. Don't you dare deny how cute that would be. Oh yes! Extra points to whoever figures out what Miss Hanajima is blabbering on about. (not that hard, really, when you consider to whom you are speaking.) And yes, I do put way too much thought into the backgrounds of things, just in case you're wondering. I've got a whole little culture made up in my head. _

_With love, as always, Jiia._


	4. Aftermath, Part Three

Aftermath, Part 3 (Strangely enough.)

Hurrah for regular updates! This chapter's a little shorter than the last one, but the last three are all supposed to be one part. I ended up breaking it up so that I could update more frequently than once a month. Anyways, thanks to everyone who reviewed. Especially ... (Who left no other name. Geez, if yer gonna review, at least leave more than ...!) who pointed out various things with the characters that I wasn't entirely sure came across in the storyline. I shall address your issues now.

First of all, yes, Yuki is just as you described- cold on the surface but kind underneath, just as he seems to be in the manga. The first third of this story focuses on Yuki, and all the various themes associated with him. The masks people wear, false smiles, etc. As La Royame progresses, his coldness and the reasons behind it will be revealed. And yes, it does have something to do with Akito, who is indeed Aki-chan. The only characters I split into two seperate people are Hatsu and Haru. Everyone else is the same. Ayame is ridiculously fun to write, and especially draw, as an eccentric army commander. But don't brush him off as a shallow poof just yet. He becomes a fairly significant character in the third arc. As for your questions about Kakeru... I explained the dynamics of their relationship in the next chapter. Also, Kakeru was only promoted to a position which would require contact between them recently, so they didn't really speak to one another, despite the fact that Yuki is his C.O. (I know you're looking forward to the two of them having more scenes, but unfortunately, it's not going to happen for a long while. I'm sorry.) As for Kyo... He is wonderful, and there will be much more of him in the future. The second arc is the story from his perspective, so he'll get just as much action as Yuki eventually. And as for Isuzu... I understand your confusion as for her being a nurse. She's not one of those nice nurses who talk to you like you're a small child and bring you jello. She's one of the bitchy nurses who care less about patient comfort and more about getting the whiny, bloody soldiers the hell out of her tent. Also, the word 'nurse' refers more to a female doctor than anything else. She's not as bitchy in her first scene as she usually is, mostly because she's too busy to be bitchy. Also, she's a good deal older than she is in the series, and has therefore leveled out some.

As for only including men in this story... What did you think Saki was? There will be plenty of women in this story, and although the main pairings will be male/male, there will be quite a few male/female pairings later on, mostly in the third arc.

Hope that answers your questions!

(By the way, the title is in French. Rough French. It's supposed to mean "The Royal.")

* * *

"I told you to get on your knees, Torracan scum." 

The white-haired man pressed the sharp edge of his halberd into the taunt flesh of the Torracan soldier, the coffee-coloured skin breaking and letting loose a trickle of burgundy shining black in the moonlight. The infiltrator winced, blood-coloured eyes narrowing as they continued to defiantly watch some point behind the cannoneer's shoulder. She remained standing.

"On your knees now, or I will cut those blasphemous tattoos right of your face."

Perhaps it was the threat. Perhaps the very idea of having the swirling black religious designs drawn artfully over her attractive features peeled away like the skin of a potato was enough to make her knees buckle. Perhaps it was the strange, dead voice in which the threat was made, totally devoid of emotion, that made her bend to the young man's iron will. No matter the reason, the girl dropped to her knees, doe-skin leggings just one shade lighter than the dust below her.

The cannoneer watched her drop, expression totally blank. His eyes roamed over her handsome, angular features, the very architecture of her face proclaiming the powerful Torracan pride that had kept her standing for so long. Her long copper hair had been pulled back in a tail at the nape of her neck, secured by a strip of sinew. With a flick of his wrist, the man deftly cut the tie, sending her hair cascading around her face like a molten metal veil to hide the dark tattoos. Her strong fingers pressed grooves into the hard earth, but she let no other part of her betray her unease. She continued to meet his empty lilac eyes with all the defiance a captive on their knees possibly can. He looked away, and yet still seemed to have one the encounter, taking in the rest of her slender body. Her boots were simple, soft, meant to tread silently upon the hard earth. Her tunic, a simple navy affair that had obviously been stolen from one of the other cannoneers, was only just a little too large for her strong, if slender frame. Her breasts had been bound close to her chest, serving the dual purpose of keeping them out of the way and completing her disguise as one of the Sakuran army.

"Don' even tink about cuttin' dem free, ye disgustin' Shiny pig." The girl turned her head to the side and spat, her heavy accent doing nothing to disguise the insult.

The blow came so quickly that even the other Sakuran soldiers who had gathered around to watch the ongoing spectacle never saw it coming. The girl tumbled backwards into the dirt, the blood dripping down from her newly split lip turning the earth black. With an expression just as blank as it had ever been, the deceptively slender young man grabbed her by the front of her stolen tunic and pulled her off the ground, keeping her kicking feet well off the ground despite their almost even height.

"How dare you suggest that I would have any interest in your rotting Torracan flesh?" Despite the scathing words, his voice remained toneless. "Your people are a cancer infesting this world. I would not bed the likes of you any more than I would bed a sickening disease."

The girl's crimson eyes flared, and she struggled to hit him, somewhere, anywhere. She got only air. The young man tossed her to the ground, retrieving his halberd and circling the shaking warrior like a predator coldly stalking its prey.

The halberd rose into the dark night, blade flashing silver under the twin moons. It came down, whistling through the still air.

"HARU!"

The halberd struck, hard, sinking deep into the earth next to the cowering girl's shoulder. The instrument of death shook with the force of the collision. Those watching silently prayed to the Unnamed God that they would not be the ones chosen to pry the weapon from the hard grasp of the earth.

The white-haired man shot something at the approaching knight that might have been a glare buried under countless layers of indifference. The Torracan girl cautiously brought her hands down from where they had been providing some small defence against the unstoppable blade. The crowd began to mutter amongst themselves. The entertainment was getting better by the moment.

"Haru! What are you doing?!" Yuki gasped, mimicking the position the man's younger brother had taken mere moments before. "We can't get information from her if she's dead!"

"I won' ever tell you nuttin'!" The girl spat again, her fear relapsing into the comfortable defiance.

"Shut up." The two light haired Saernan officers intoned simultaneously.

She frowned, crossing her arms and legs in the pose known eternally as the pout, and complied.

"She was trying to cause damage to my cannons, Captain Yuki." The lanky cannoneer replied in the same dead tone he always used. "Such a travesty cannot be allowed."

Yuki sighed, pushing his hand through his silvery hair and drawing a happy sigh of appreciation from the entranced crowd. The girl remained silent, but she was very obviously impressed by the pale, almost Wraith-like beauty. Were it not for his vibrant lavender eyes, he could have been a native of the very valley in which they stood. Haru, as always, remained unaffected.

"They're cannons, Haru. Machines. They can be fixed."

The cannoneer's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Yuki winced internally. He had forgotten, for a moment, who he was talking to. Lieutenant Haru of the Cherry Kingdom Artillery Squad was known by many names. Chief among them were 'The White Terror' and 'The Eye of the Storm'. Outwardly, he was calm, cold, reacting to nothing and no one. And yet his anger was more terrifying than that of even the Cherry King Akito himself. At least with Akito, you knew when the rage was coming. Haru would remain as calm as ever, even as he ripped out your beating heart.

"She tried to damage my cannons, Captain Yuki." There was an edge to his voice, almost unnoticeable. He was angry, angrier than the knight had ever seen him. For what might well have been the very first time in his life, he was on the edge of losing control. "Such a thing cannot be allowed."

Yuki looked down at the girl. She was young, younger than he, surely. If he had to guess, he would have likened her to Tohru Honda, the clumsy young Sakuran noblewoman his 'dear father' pushed into his attentions. In fact, she reminded him of the bright woman quite a bit. They possessed the same shaky innocence, the same almost accidental beauty. Tohru held none of this fiery creature's pride or defiance, of course, but she could have. Had she been raised in the world of the Torrac, raised to be proud and confident and strong instead of demure and self-conscious and weak, she would have been very much like the creature before him.

"What's your name, girl?" He asked, his gentle voice startling, even to himself. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

Haru shot him a glace, obviously shocked and angered at being ignored. The girl blinked, a slight blush seeping into her darkened skin. She sat straight, her shoulders back and her head up, the very picture of pride.

"I am Kyoko Ahdon, of de Red Bu'erfly. Ye are a S'kuran pig. Dere, in'rodutions done." She glared at him, as if daring him to hit her as Haru had done.

He allowed himself to sigh once more. As much as he admired the Torracan pride, he hated it as well. It made everything so unnecessarily difficult.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He thought it to be a second impossible infiltrator, identity made obvious by the shock of bright orange hair atop his head. He soon recognized the tell-tale glint of Kyo's flame-coloured eyes, and felt his worries slide away with unsettling ease. If Kyo was there, he was safe.

He turned, began to call to the incandescent fiend of claw and whip. Something flashed, bronze hair by the light of the moon, eyes the colour of blood so close he could see the flecks of gold deep within. He took a hit to the side, stumbling and falling onto the dusty earth. He saw a blur of leather and hide, skin the colour of coffee and flesh the colour of tea, orange and bronze and red, bright and dull.

_Crrck._

Everything went still. Even the night held its breath. Slowly, Kyo let the Torracan's limp body fall to the ground, her head twisted at an angle that could never have been natural. Her wide red eyes stared at him, empty, cold. Lifeless.

He caught a glint of light in her palm. A tiny dagger, small enough to hide in her hair or in the cuff of her boot. Blood on the blade, black in the moonlight.

His blood, he realized. He felt the heat on his cheek, a slow stream of darkness marring his pale, perfect flesh.

She had tried to kill him. She would have succeeded, too, had it not been for Kyo's timely intervention. Had the warrior not knocked him to the side, that tiny blade would have cut through his vulnerable throat. It would have been him on the ground, not the girl. Not the girl he had thought to be innocent.

Kyo stared at him, the orange lights of his eyes as emotionless as Haru's. He had bathed, and changed, and there was no more blood on his strong, slender fingers. There was no more blood, and no more claws, just his strong, slender fingers that had wrapped around her head and twisted, so easy. Snapped her neck and then she was gone.

Yuki had killed a thousand men, and many women, any and all who had tried to do to him what that strange girl had almost done. He had never once regretted it, never once felt disturbed by what he had done.

And yet now, looking into Kyos eyes and seeing only his own dull reflection, into the eyes of the man who had killed in his name, killed to save his life, standing clean and blameless for all the world to see...

He had never felt so guilty.

"Get up." The warrior deadpanned, his voice so quiet he shouldn't have been able to hear it, not even over the total silence of the trembling crowd.

Yuki pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the tremor in his hands. He had seen death before. He would not be afraid. He would not.

The warrior stepped over the girl's fallen body without even a glance at it. He prowled closer, reminding Yuki of the powerful jungle cats his father kept as pets. Strong, graceful, and absolutely deadly. He was an animal, feral, violent beauty and beautiful violence. His eyes, gold and red and orange, a blur of colour and light gleaming in the moonlight. A beast's eyes, they were. They took up the whole world.

He felt the scrape of short, blunt nails across his face, the calloused tips of strong fingers digging into his cheek and bruising flesh. The impact of the blow alone was enough to throw him for a loop, stumbling and almost falling back down. He knew, he _knew_, that if Kyo had been wearing his claws he would be dead. His head would be in pieces, thick slices of flesh and bone and brain. Even without, those carefully cut nails dug deep. Not enough to bleed, but enough to catch the wound the Torracan's tiny dagger had left and pull it wide. He put a shaking hand to the wound, felt the torrent of heat rushing between his fingers. It was going to leave a scar. Maybe that had been the point. Kyo had wanted to scar him, to leave a lasting reminder of what he had done. What Yuki had allowed.

"If you ever let your guard down like that again, I'll kill you myself." The warrior's voice remained as dead as ever, but he saw the tell-tale glitter of rage burning inside his flame-like eyes.

Without another word, he turned and stalked away into the darkness, the crowd parting before him like wheat in the wind.

He was surrounded by people, his faithful followers, the cannoneers, the entire crowd all gathering around him and trying to push him towards the infirmary without actually touching his hollowed body. Everywhere he looked, he saw a face full of concern, or outrage, or glittering with unnecessary tears. The entire Sakuran army clamoured around him, already formulating some sort of revenge for the terrible offense the strange, stoic soldier had committed.

And yet none of it mattered. Only two faces found their way past his walls of ice and shock and into his heart. That of the Torracan girl no one would touch, and that of the man who had just walked away.

* * *

Since there's no real note for this chapter... Background on heritage/colouring. There are five different 'races' in Ecir. From west to east, they are the Sakurans, the Saerens, the Shadowlanders, the Iselians and the Kakerot. The Sakurans have dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin. Hatori, Shigure, Hanajima, and Akito would all fit into this category. The Saerens, like Yuki, are Sakurans who mixed with the Shadowlanders somewhere along the line. Therefore, they can have any combination of hair and eyes, pale or dark. Momiji, Tohru, Kureno and Ayame (Although he has pure Shadowlander colouring, he's still a Saeren) are all Saerens. Pureblood Shadowlanders who may or may not appear within this story include Kazuma and Mayuko. The Kakerot are not represented by any of the Furabura characters. They have dark (Think Indian/Arabian) skin, dark, usually red or burgundy hair and similarly coloured eyes. The Iselians usually have the same red hair, but lighter skin and eyes, mostly gold or orange. Kyo would be an example of Iselian colouring. Any and all other combinations can be brought about through some manner of racial mixing. Kisa, for example. Kakerotian or Iselian mother, with a Shadowlander father. 


	5. The Attack, Part One

The Attack, Part One.

Erk! I'm so sorry! Life snuck up and bit me once again, and I forgot to update. Heh But at least I didn't go on a fifty-year hiatus, neh? Oh well.

Ms. ...! You said that I could come up with a name for you. So I shall call you "Margret", so that Mortimer my compy will not feel lonely in his M-name-ness. Anyways, as for your new set of questions...

Yes, Kyoko is supposed to be Tohru's mother. (Not in this, just based off the character.) And yes, she is meant to be similar to the younger Kyoko you see in the manga, before she married and had kids and became all happy and normal. Using the word normal loosely, of course. I liked her as a character too... But nobody sent me any characters to steal, so I had to improvise. She'll be mentioned later in the story. Kyoko was around Yuki's age, by the way. Late teens, early twenties. As for the rest of the background info... Please feel free to ask me about anything you had issues with. I've got this entire world all worked out in my head, it's just a matter of conveying it to all you guys. As for the whole races thing, I felt like I had to explain that better, because it plays a rather large roll in the story. If you don't get the differences between the various factions, it'll be real easy to get lost. If any of you feel confused about anything, feel free to email me at snowblossom (at) shaw (dot) ca, or AIM me (username Jiiachan) and I'll explain it to you. Just don't try and ask me about the plot, because I'd probably forget and tell you. .

With love and apologies for the lateness, Jiia

* * *

He walked the path to the medical tents in a daze. The world passed him by, but he didn't move within it. He was empty, and cold. He couldn't quite recall why this felt so strange.

It was like his entire soul had leaked out through the cut on his face. It wasn't like shock, and it wasn't the pain. He'd had much, much worse through his years as a soldier. Pain had ceased to bother him long ago. And yet, he did hurt. Deep down inside, where no knife, no matter how sharp, or no touch, no matter how gentle, could ever reach. The cut on his face was not the only wound he bore.

The others buzzed around him, annoying insects he didn't have the energy to slap away. They were worried about him. He could understand their concern. He was worried about him. But they were still irritating. They asked him stupid questions, made him speak meaningless lies, reassure them even as they tried to do the same for him. He wanted them to just disappear, leave him alone, let him sit down and rest instead of trudging through the muck and the mire to the grimy tents stained with the blood that had never been spilt.

He pulled the flap aside, finally leaving his entourage behind as they stood expectantly outside the ramshackle structure. For a brief moment, he had the precious solitude he so desired. Then, one of the nurses who had been ogling him earlier saw him, saw the blood leaking through her fingers, and screamed.

Isuzu elbowed her way through the gaggle of frantic young girls, struggling to see what had made each and every nurse under her capable command abandon their patients. She didn't need to say a word. The nurses scuttled off to their respective wards, watching furtively over shoulders as the austere woman sat him down in some disused corner, waiting for one of the younger nurses to finish up so they could take care of his less life-threatening injury.

He saw Kakeru sitting by the bedside of Komaki, his dying lover. He rested his dark head upon the blood-stained sheets, gazing up at the other man's pallid face with an empty expression that mirrored what Yuki felt. He tangled his fingers with those of his beloved, holding him tightly as if he could anchor the man in this world with the power of his grip alone.

He and Kakeru hadn't really been friends. For all the many years they had worked together, he had always kept distant from the man, distant from all his men. He liked the soldier well enough. He was bright, funny, always able to bring a smile to the bloodied faces of the Souris Knights. He had a feeling that they could have been friends, good friends, had the times been different. Had they been different. Maybe, if they had been given more time. Kakeru had known who he was and hadn't been afraid. Had even given him a silly nickname. Yun-Yun indeed.

Yes, he thought. They would have been friends.

But not now. Not with the death of the man's lover on his conscience. He had been the one to send Komaki into the seething horde that was the Torracan Army. He had sent the man to his death, and he would never forgive himself for that. To do so would be to betray his memory.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Orange hair. Orange eyes. But smaller, not Kyo. Not the dark warrior with the raking claws and the eyes of fire.

A girl. A little girl. In her early teens, just barely starting to make the transition from child to woman. Her bright hair had been cut rather sloppily, short in back but longer in front, as if she hadn't let them get near her face with the scissors. She was cute, in the way most children are cute. Big eyes with a round face, innocence oozing from every pore. She held up a surgical needle and a spool of thin black thread.

"May I treat your wound, Master Yuki?" She whispered, timid and shy behind the fine curtain of her bangs.

He nodded his consent, dropping his hand as he clambered onto a stool next to him. She set the needle and thread on a nearby table and took up a damp cloth. He let his eyes slide shut, blocking out the pain and despair all around him. Behind his eyes, he tried to picture where he had seen this little girl, long ago. Another place, another time. Her little hands gently cleaned away the drying blood, soft and sure and strangely familiar. He remembered those hands, watching them touch something else... Something that shared the colour of her hair.

He knew who she was. It came to him as suddenly as lightning.

"You're Kisana, aren't you?" He turned to her, completely forgetting that she was trying to clean blood off his face and nearly smacking himself on her tiny blood-stained hands. "The daughter of the cat-keeper."

"Yes, Master Yuki." She whispered, staring at her hands as she folded them neatly in her lap. "Although it's just 'Kisa' now."

He nodded, turning his face away to allow her to continue her work. He remembered her, ten years old, dancing gracefully among the stripped beasts that bore her colouring. They had made her into a feline princess, black stripes painted onto her pale skin in a strange parody of the Torracan tattoos born by her Kakeron mother. He wasn't surprised that she had left that world. She had been shy, clumsy, endearing but not enduring. The members of King Akito's court would have tired of her quite quickly. It was only her novelty which brought her forth in the first place. And her name... He would have changed it too. Kisana was as much a part of her act as the paint. It wasn't even a name, really. It was merely the Torracan word for kitten.

He was glad she had escaped that life. He wished she had chosen a different path than as a nurse on the front lines of a war. No one as innocent as her should have to see the kind of pain that surrounded them at that very moment. Still, at least now she was making her own way, walking her own road. He was proud of her, in a way.

They were very much alike.

He forced himself to remain still as her sure, nimble fingers pushed the sharp needle through his skin. He didn't dare flinch. As her skilled fingers worked, he began to wonder whether if the wound would really scar or not. Judging by the girl's grim expression, it probably would, but it didn't appear to be as bad as he had thought. To him, it would just be one more reminder. To the others, well... It might even improve his image. He'd probably go from 'girly princeling' to 'battle-scarred warrior' overnight. He almost laughed at the thought. He had more scars than he cared to count, and the only one that would ever matter to them was the one on his face.

"Master Yuki..." The girl asked quietly, glancing up at him with her big golden eyes. "If I may ask... How did you get hurt?"

He sighed, scratching a fleck of dried blood off his bracer. It was a good question, and one he really didn't want to answer.

"I was stupid. I let down my guard in the presence of an enemy."

She looked at him, one orange eyebrow arching sceptically.

"An enemy who both cut you and scratched you, in the exact same place?"

He winced, although it had nothing to do with the needle and thread piercing his skin.

"The scratch... Was from Kyo. A subtle reminder of my idiocy. I should have expected it, really. The man hates me. He's always quick to remind me of my flaws, real or imaginary."

She shot him another look, this one strange and unreadable. It looked like a cross between curiosity, puzzlement and a kind of _knowing,_ one which unsettled him more than it really should have. After all, this was a little girl he was talking to. She couldn't know much of anything, let alone something about him.

"I had thought that you two were a good team. The Cherry Kingdom's never lost a battle as long as the two of you were there. Do you not get along?"

"No." Yuki resisted the urge to shake his head. "On the battlefield, we're fine together. He trusts me to give the orders, and I trust him to follow them. Outside of that, however... Let's just say we're not friends."

The girl paused for a long moment, concentrating on her work. She bit her lip, slender brows creased in a contemplative frown.

"Do you...Fight?" She looked at him, her expression thoughtful. "With your fists, I mean."

"Every once in a while." He blinked. "It's usually more or an insult-throwing contest, actually."

"And..." She bit her lip again, but this time it seemed more like a gesture to hide a smile than anything else. "How do these fights usually start? After you make a mistake, or just out of the blue?"

He frowned. What on earth was she getting at? He couldn't understand her interest. It wasn't like she had anything to do with the two of them. She was completely uninvolved.

"It depends. If I make an error, he's sure to throw it back in my face. Not always, though. Sometimes I'll just be talking to someone and he'll walk up and start in on me, for no reason at all."

She looked up at him from under her bangs. He could see a smile pulling at the edges of her lips, a smile she was trying very hard to hide.

"Master Yuki, I think Master Kyo likes you more than he lets on."

"What do you mean?" He frowned, resisting the urge to turn to her as she clipped the last stitch and set the needle down.

"Well..." She picked up the gauze and began fiddling with the edge, pulling out the fine threads one at a time until it was thoroughly frayed. "It's like with me and Hiro."

He blinked. This conversation was making less sense by the second.

"Hiro... You mean Hiro the messenger boy?"

She nodded, blushing brightly.

"You see, Master Yuki, every time I hurt myself or do something dangerous, Hiro always gets really mad. He'll yell at me and everything, because he was so worried. I think Master Kyo's a bit like that." She grinned up at him, quickly cutting off the frayed portion of the gauze and measuring out a bandage for him.

Yuki's frown deepened. He looked away, absently watching the general hustle and bustle of the medical tent. He had never put much thought into his strange relationship with the other man. He had never really thought that much about Kyo in general. They'd grown up together, after a fashion, but the orange-haired boy had always been on the fringes of his world, a bright shadow lurking on the edges of his vision. Kyo had been just one of many children running around the palace, someone who was just there, separated from his lonely existence by the expensive crystal glass of the palace windows. He didn't think he'd ever even spoken to the boy before joining the military.

Kyo was Torracan, and even if he did have the favour of the royal consort, he would never be allowed to associate with a Prince.

And yet, when Yuki thought about it, when he picked through the misty fields of his memory, he could not recall a time when there hadn't been a little boy the colour of coffee just a few steps behind him, watching his back. Protecting him.

Kyo had been there for every important moment of his life. He had been there when Ayame had refused the title of Crown Prince and joined the army, bringing down their 'father's' wrath upon all three boys. He had been there when Ritsu followed the brother he idolized, and when the title of Crown Prince fell to Yuki. He had been there when he threw down that title, and he had been there when he had incurred the consequences. Even now, as the young commander waged war for the first time, he was there, cutting down the people whose blood he shared, the people with whom he belonged far more than he ever would belong amongst the Sakurans.

Kyo had been watching him his entire life, standing in the shadows like some flaming guardian angel. Although they had never really spoken, they had always been together, somehow. Connected by some strange strand in Fate's tapestry.

Could Kyo possibly care that deeply for him? Could the man without a soul really feel for anyone, even himself? He seemed too cold for it to be true.

But then, the memory of fiery eyes flashed before him, eyes that burned with something hidden, something dark and bright and warm and dangerous. Something he had never seen in another's eyes before. Something that scared him and fascinated him at the same time.

When Yuki left the medical tent, he walked not through the muddy, smoky camp of his army, but through the corridors of the palace in which he had been raised. His pale eyes flickered over the tired, battle scarred faces of the men and women who had answered the King's call, but that wasn't what he saw.

Everywhere he looked, he saw eyes the colour of blood, and wondered.

* * *

This is the first real mention of slash. It'll take a long while to anything more overt. Once again, feel free to send me your characters to use as... Well, cannon fodder, actually. I'm in desperate need for Torracans, so I've decided to take away the whole "You must guess things" part and just made it "Send me your people!" in the hope that someone might actually answer. Suggestions as to who the minor characters should be can be submitted as well. I believe I have all the Sohmas down, but if there are random characters people really want to see who appear, like... Once, I'd be great if you could inform me of their existance. My main research tool for this is Wikipedia, and that can only go so far.

Yuki's past will be explained eventually, by the way. As will the reason why father is sometimes in quotation marks. (And yes, in my universe Yuki, Ritsu and Ayame are brothers. Bite me.) Any other issues, feel free to IM me or something.


	6. The Attack, Part Two

The Attack, Part Two.

Is on time! Sweetness. Anyways... This chapter has some pretty graphic violence. If that bothers you at all, then... WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU READING THIS FOR?!? Feel free to rant and rave at me for the contents of this chapter. It will not change the outcome in the least, so there.

Margret's Question Corner!! (Yes, it is now officially a part of the story.)

I'm glad you're enjoying the intricacy. Although this isn't nearly as intricate as it's GOING to be. Keep in mind, all of these events are going to be viewed through another two sets of eyes. And just so you know right now, the other two arcs are from the POV of Kyo and Ritsu, in that order. Some of the stuff in here will take all the way to the Ritsu arc to explain, so be patient. And yes, this is going to focus entirely on Yuki for about one third of the storyline, and then Kyo, and Ritsu. During the course of each arc, all the little details about the person's character and past will be explained, as well as how they feel about the people around them.

Kisa is Adorable with a capital A, just so you know. She'll show up again later, and it will be explained as to how she knows so much about what Kyo feels for Yuki. And the Hiro part... Well, how could I resist?

The feelings that Yuki has for Kyo aren't necessarily love at the moment, that's true. In fact, I'm not sure if what happens between them ever gets to the point that I would call it 'love', at least not on Yuki's end. It's more like an appreciation for what Kyo's done for him, mixed with guilt for never having realized the guy was even there.

Although, unfortunately, the whole 'cold bitch' attitude is going to go to hell in the rest of this arc. He'll try real hard, but it just doesn't work in the sort of situation the evil authoress put him in.

The list of characters that I need is after the chapter, by the way.

(By the way, Nao is already in this. He was the one randomly put in a wheelchair. He'll be back later. Kimi I haven't decided yet. She'll probably be a courtier in the Ritsu ark. And Mokoto is indeed in this, as one of the stalkers who was following Yuki around in the med tent and such, and she'll be in the Ritsu ark as well, pretty early on.

Anyways, sorry for the incredibly long A/N. On to the violence!

* * *

The attack came so quickly, the slumbering Sakuran army barely had the time to realize what was happening before it was over. 

For the past week, they had been fighting wave after wave of unskilled, untrained amateurs, conscripts from farms and towns. Day after day, they fought back the onslaught of enemies, and day after day they left mountains of corpses in their wake.

Then, in the middle of the night, as the Prince wandered through the ranks, the Torracan generals sent forth their real warriors.

They were called 'Varashimn', or whirlwinds. They were the finest warriors the Torracans had to offer. They fought, not for fame or glory or some distant ruler whom they would never even see, but for their God, Theok of the Void, Lord of Chaos. They paid homage to his principles in all aspects of life. They covered their entire bodies with swirling tattoos, cut the designs into their own flesh. They took up wickedly hooked Creshak scimitars and span through the seething ranks of their enemies, cutting off limbs and slicing open bellies at every turn. They were legendary to the point of myth. No one still living had ever seen one in battle. The Sakuran generals had thought their brutal ways had died out long ago.

One hundred of them slid past the silent corpses of the sentries and into the sleeping camp, taking the life the soldiers as they slept. Each of the hundred razor sharp Creshaks was dyed dark by the blood of the soldiers by the time an alarm was raised. By the time word reached the quiet lane through which Yuki strolled, the battle had already been lost.

The messenger never finished his cry, finding a serrated Barbadn spear shoved through his chest before he got past the first syllable. The warriors were on the encampment in an instant, slaughtering the soldiers as the scrambled for their weapons.

Yuki slid out of his reverie and went into action, drawing his winged Aeries broadsword. The weapon was of Shadowlander design, shortened blade perfect for the cramped forest conditions that could be found anywhere else in the valley. It was an officer's sword, functional only to a point. Against the long Creshak blades, it was almost useless.

He blocked a falling blade without even thinking, turning it to the side and forcing it out wide. The wielder tried to step closer, intending to knock the smaller knight off balance and buy enough time to get his weapon back into position. The Varashimn brought himself right into Yuki's blade, the sharp edge sinking easily though billowing, airy robes and slipping between his ribs. Yuki yanked his weapon free and dropped the corpse to the ground, immediately turning to the nearest invader.

He too fell to the muddy earth, clutching at the mortal wound spilling his intestines out between his fingers. The fourth and fifth followed suit, dissected from hip to shoulder and throat torn open by a quick sideways thrust. The phalanx pulled themselves together, organizing a unified assault against the one warrior who seemed capable of cutting down their ranks. The black shadowy figures surrounded him, robes helping to mask each individual form and turning half a dozen men into a single, shimmering entity.

Yuki fought them off, struggling against the perfect teamwork of the fanatics with everything he had. He couldn't push an offensive, couldn't even risk sneaking a hit between attacks. The blows came too fast, and it was all he could do to block them.

He couldn't win, not on his own. He needed help, a distraction, or else he'd never escape the dark circle of death that had surrounded him. He caught a flash of black hair and blood-stained, dented armour. It was Kakeru, trading hits with the Torracans and somehow winning, making each and every blow fatal while keeping his own wounds minor. Two more of the dervishes fell, and then the boy was on them, punching a hole in the Torracan ranks and giving his commander precisely the opening he was looking for. He dropped into a roll, using the shock of his sword passing through the flesh and bone of a leg to put himself behind the circle, drawing his blade back up and splitting the injured man's back along the line of his spine before he even began to fall.

And then the Souris Knights were all around him, cornering the Varashimn as he had just been cornered. There was Arir, with a bloody bandage still wrapped around his head, and Jheydon, nursing an injured calf but still managing to fight. And next to him, Kakeru, and Matchi, an impossible valkyrie, her own blood seeping through her chainmail from the reopened wound in her side and the blood of others staining her honey-coloured hair red.

The knights fought well, injured or no. They were just as good as the Varashimn, with vision unclouded by the religious frenzy the berserkers put themselves into. It wasn't long before Yuki felt the warm flood of Torracan blood over his fingers as the last of his opponents fell.

But that had only been one small part of the force, only a dozen or so of the hundred who had come into their camp. Looking around at his knights, he very quickly realized that they couldn't withstand another assault. Matchi barely kept her feet, hand pressed tight against her side. Jheydon had fallen, and judging by the broken blade jutting from his back, he wouldn't be rising again. Even Kakeru had taken some pretty severe damage, leaving him limping and pale as he struggled to staunch the flow of blood coming from the stump that had been Arir's arm.

He seemed to be the only one who hadn't been hurt. Looking at the mixed splashes of blood shining black on his armour, he knew why. His knights had taken his hits for him.

Even if they had been whole, even if half their squad hadn't already been killed in their sleep or wounded in some minor battle the previous day, they couldn't have won against the force levelled against them. The attack had been too well planned, and they could already see the wave of real Torracan soldiers, trained and armed with more than thrown-together weaponry surging up the hillside.

Cherry Hills would fall. The only thing they could do at this point was survive.

"Kakeru."

The dark haired man looked up, grey eyes dead with grief and exhaustion. His hands continued to press against the raw, torn flesh of his comrade's arm, still trying to save him even though he was already dead.

"Take them home, Kakeru."

Yuki offered him a smile. It was wan, and pale, and full of more sadness than mirth. But it was real, and it was warm, and it let the knight see the pride and the gratitude that he felt for him. For all of them. They had come to his rescue again, and for that he would be eternally in their debt.

Saving some of their lives was the least he could do.

"Sir." Matchi took a limping step forward, a grimace just barely making itself known beneath her usual blankness. "Aren't you coming with us, Sir?"

Yuki looked at her. She was in no condition to fight. She shouldn't have been out in the field in the first place, and yet she had come. She always had, always followed his orders, even though she would listen to no one else. She came when he called, every single time. Kakeru might have been the sergeant, but if he had to choose between the two, he would trust the volatile woman over Kakeru's false exuberance in a second. They shared a mutual trust, one that he was about to break and maintain at the same time.

"No, Matchi. I'm still acting commander. It's my duty to see this through till the end."

She gave him a long look, navy eyes more observant than Isuzu's, more judgmental than his 'father's. They flashed with anger, confusion, concern over her commander and, yes, her friend. And then suddenly they filled with something else, something that was so much warmer and so much more welcome than anything else could ever have been.

Understanding.

She took a couple of staggering steps forward. She raised the hand that wasn't pressed against her wound to his shoulder, clasping him reassuringly in the single most comforting gesture he had ever received. He did the same, smiling at her and saying an unspoken farewell,

And then the weight of her hand was gone, and she was pulling Kakeru to his feet, barking terse orders like she'd been doing it all her life. The knights fell in line behind her, only a few bothering to look behind them to the silver man standing amidst the carnage they had wrought. They passed by the next line of tents, and were fighting for their very lives, aiming for escape instead of victory.

His knights disappeared among the tents and writhing bodies, and Yuki found himself alone.

It wasn't difficult to find his brother among the chaos. Ayame danced through the ranks, his infamous Gorgon Blade cutting through flesh and bone and steel as easily as air. The other captains had already made their way to his side. He saw the opposing mops of spikes that marked the lieutenant brothers, Hatsu and Haru. There had been no time to launch a long-distance counterattack, and so the archer and the cannoneer fought hand to hand with the same short officer's blades that Yuki carried. There was a flash of steel, and the younger white-haired brother went down, disappearing beneath the surging tide of people. There was no sign of Kyo.

He cut through the horde, cutting down normal Torrac soldiers and Varashimn alike as he made his way towards his brother. Without his loyal men to guard his back, his gleaming armour soon became dented and torn by the constant onslaught of Torracan weaponry. One of the Varashimn got his hooked sword under one of the plates in his armour, tearing open his side in a strange mirror of the wound that had been inflicted upon Matchi that morning. He repaid the offending warrior by taking his head clean off his shoulders.

He turned back to the main hub of battle just in time to see the blow fall. Ayame had been separated from the captains by the clever manoeuvring of a pair of Varashimn, distinguished from the others of their ilk by the black dye streaked through their vibrant red hair. Brothers at the very least, probably twins. They worked together brilliantly, fending off the supersharp edge of the general's legendary blade and keeping him on the defensive. The two dark figures became little more than shadowy blurs flashing silver crescents towards his hard pressed brother. One suddenly broke from the flow of battle, slipping in behind the reach of Ayame's longer blade and driving his elbow into the man's stomach. The other brought their gleaming sword down on the slender man's back, the force of the blow slicing through his thin ornamental armour to the flesh beneath.

Ayame's legs crumpled, and he disappeared beneath the ranks of the masses.

Yuki felt the shout wrenched from his throat more than heard it. His sword fell from his fingers, and he was almost swimming between the crowd, slender fingers pushing against shoulders scrambling for purchase wherever he could.

The pale form of his brother appeared through a gap in the crowd for only a moment. Just a glimpse and Yuki already knew.

His brother was already dead.

Someone shouted his name. He fell to his knees, more out of shock than in any real attempt to avoid the scything blow one of the red-haired twins had aimed at him. It caught his shoulder, sending him into a sidelong roll over the muddy ground.

Yuki closed his eyes against the dust and the blood and the pain and let himself go. He pushed everything that usually defined him into the back of his mind. He'd deal with his grief later. For now he needed to fight, or he was going to die.

He drew a thin blade from his boot as he came out of the roll, taking out the hamstrings of a near-by soldier. A second thicker blade pulled from the belt of the falling man took out his throat, and then Yuki was up and running, losing himself to the pure rage of battle.

Another Torracan warrior came at him, battleaxe raised to cleave him in two. Yuki flicked his wrist, sending the dagger spinning into the man's eyesocket. He ran right up the man's falling corpse, launching himself over a stunned invader and slid the stolen blade through the soft spot at the back of his head before his feet even touched the ground.

Once more weaponless, he used the momentum of his leap and sent himself into a slide, going right between the legs of a third fighter, pulling a hunting knife from the man's boot and slicing through his calf in the process. The man crumpled, and Yuki whirled, severing the man's spine just above his shoulder blades. He grabbed the simple short sword from the man's slack fingers and pushed himself deeper into battle.

He caught sight of black-streaked red surging through the crowd, leaving a trail of Sakuran corpses in its wake. He was on the warrior in moments, once more hitting the earth and slipping under the hem of the man's loose robes. His stolen dagger missed his tendon as the Varashimn pivoted in place, dropping to one knee and driving his Creshak into the earth where Yuki's chest would have been, had he not immediately pulled his legs up to his chest and flipped onto his feet.

Yuki sent his sword driving into the man's back, aiming for the same spot his brother had been hit. He missed, hitting nothing but fabric as the warrior dropped completely onto the ground, lying on his back in the bloody mud.

Before his rational mind even realized the attack had failed, he was straddling the tattooed fanatic, dagger pressed against the chocolaty skin of his throat. The creature beneath him froze, eyes the colour of spiced honey wide and defiant but not the least bit afraid. He had already assured his place beside his God in the afterlife.

He felt his face contort in a feral snarl. The man beneath him had killed his brother, and he would have his vengeance, image be damned. He took his blade from the creature's throat, letting him see it, let him know that his life would be taken by an object lovingly made by his own people. The man's eyes gleamed with some sort of demented humour, as if appreciating the irony without the veil of imminent death.

He raised the dagger high and pushed it back down, racing towards bone and flesh and the sickening softness of the human heart.

He heard someone call his name, for the second time in what may well have been as many minutes. Something hit him hard from the side, sending him flying back into the gritty mud. He raised his head to scream his rage at whatever had kept him from his revenge just in time to see Kyo take the hit that had been meant for him.

The second Varashimn's sword hit the slender young warrior's shoulder with a sickening crunch. Bone shattered, and he crumpled beneath the force of the blow. The first twin scrambled to his feet, shoving Kyo's limp form off into the dirt. Blood ran down his face, and Yuki felt a strange sort of sickening satisfaction at the red line dissecting his eye. The warrior struggled to get up, arm hanging uselessly by his side. The second brother kicked him in the ribs, snarling something unintelligible in the rough Torracan tongue. Kyo went down, and didn't raise his head again.

Yuki found himself shaking uncontrollably, stumbling to his feet only to fall right back down as his boots slid in the gory mud. The Varashimn advanced on him, murmuring to each other in their guttural speech. His eyes kept straying from the oncoming enemy to the still form of the orange-haired warrior. He had saved Yuki's life, there was no doubt about it. Traded Yuki's life for his own.

So many had died to protect him, and how was he repaying their sacrifice? Cowering on the bloodsoaked earth before a pair of tattooed demon-spawn, trembling like a conscript on his first campaign. If he was going to die, he would make it a death worthy of those who had given him everything.

He let the Varashimn draw near, let them raise their weapons, let them bring them down, perfectly in sync. The blade of one cut a fiery line across his shoulder in between the plates of his battered armour. The other he somehow blocked, letting it roll down the smooth metal of his bracer and right into his waiting gauntlet. He twisted the hooked blade out of the astonished Varashimn's hands and brought it around to separate the hand that had held it from his arm.

The last thing he heard was the scream of the crippled man as he dropped to his knees, clutching the bloody stump of his arm. The last thing he felt was the blinding agony of a Creshak hilt slamming down on the side of his head.

The last thing he saw was the motionless form of the man who he had known all his life, but knew nothing about, dead or dying from a wound that had should have been for him.

And then the world went black, and he knew nothing.

_I'm sorry, Kyo. I let you down._

* * *

Mwahahaha!! Cliff hanger. Anyways, these are the characters that I NEED in order to write the next chapter. I NEED them, I tell you, and if I don't get some inspiration, the next chapter might be a long time coming. 

Two Torracan nurses, one whom is kind and the other of whom is a real bitch.

A Torracan guard, someone who's totally loyal to the cause but with a strong moral center.

A Torracan politician, older and tainted by his experiences, but still a good person at heart.

His 'young ward', as it were- pretty much a page under his tutelage who looks up to him.

If you're interested in seeing your characters in these roles, please send me a physical description and name, as well as any other distinguishing characteristics (Or pictures, if you have them) to snowblossomat)shaw(dot)ca. Thanks very much! (And don't name Furabura characters for this, please. It's sort of a goal to have them all on the Sakuran side and make up the entire Torracan side. Although if there's anyone I'm missing, feel free to point it out.)

By the way... The two Varashimn in this chapter are actually based off of a set of much happier and less violent red-haired twins from a certain shojo manga, taking place as such manga often do in a swanky private school. Bonus points to anyone who can name them and the manga they come from.

Hint- it involves a gender-confused young girl, an exuberant blonde man who calls himself "King" and "Father", alternatively, and a happy little bunny boy who shares a voice actor with the mythical rabbit of this very series.


	7. The Cell, Part One

The Cell, Part One

Mrg... Updating regularily is hard. Sorry for the shortness and crappiness of this chapter- I am sick and also overloaded by homework. Life explodes. Anyways, I'll just go on to everyone's favorite part...

Margaret's Question Corner!

Matchi is treasurer Machi. The misspelling is due in part to my stupidity and my horrible phonetic tendencies. As for the reasoning behind the Ritsu arc... I needed someone who was part of things, but wasn't actually at Cherry Hills. (For now obvious reasons.) The Ritsu arc will reveal much about many, many things. Mwahahaha...

As for your third question/complaint... Ayame **is** a good character. He is fun to write, and I look forward to doing it again in the future. (Insert evil laugh here.)

* * *

He awoke in darkness. The world was blank, a vast, empty void, filled only by the chill drip of water down stone walls and the distant echo of screaming.

The empty world span about him, lurid splashes of colour flickering across his vision as his head throbbed. He bit back a groan, rolling his head back off his chest and almost gagging as the bloody lump the Creshak had given him hit hard stone.

Once the unsettling waves of pain had eased, he forced himself to ignore the wound to his skull and focus on the other myriad aches and pains sending bolts of black lightning through his veins. His shoulders ached, and his wrists. They were above his head, stretched painfully as they supported his weight. There was stone under his feet, rough rock scraping his bare ankle. He carefully stood, wincing at the battle-stiffness that still pulled at his muscles.

With his feet beneath him, he could lower his arms to about shoulder level, the chains that held him clinking loudly in the darkness as he tried to stretch away the pain. His armour and his weapons had been removed, along with his boots. His undershirt stuck to his skin, damp and cold and making him more miserable than being shirtless would have.

Other than the lump and the raw chaffing on his wrists, he seemed more or less intact.

It seemed fairly obvious where he was, and what had happened to him. He'd been taken prisoner by the Torrac and was now mouldering away in some bleak dungeon behind enemy lines. The only question was why. Why had they gone to the trouble of bringing him here when they could have just killed him? They probably wanted information on the Sakuran defences and such. But if that was the case, why not interrogate him out in the field instead of bringing him all the way here? Wherever here was.

They couldn't know who he really was. Nobody knew, especially not the Torrac. To them, he was just a commander, a Souris Knight, important in his role but not by birthright.

He absently wondered what they'd do if they realized they had captured the third... Second in line for the Sakuran throne.

He couldn't be sure how much time passed. The echoes of the tortured screams of the other prisoners seemed to go through a disconcerting cycle. There would be long stretches of silence followed by cries so violent that it gave him shivers. Eventually the screams would die off into a sort of shuddering sob, somehow even more horrible than the screams. Then it would go silent again, stretching on almost into forever.

Each time the screams started, they were a little bit closer.

He could almost make out the words coming though the thick stone walls when the door opened. The dim torchlight of the hallway was so bright it almost blinded him, making him flinch away and squeeze his eyes shut against it. He heard a softly spoken voice, the voice of a woman. She padded in, booted feet shuffling quietly on the floor.

He pried open his eyes to look at the woman entering his cell. At first she was just a slender silhouette, cut crosswise by a dark line of a tray. She smelt like Isuzu, of blood and sweat and tears and the rancid stench of medicines. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he began to pick out more detail. Her long blood-brown hair was braided into rope over her shoulder, tied off with a plain black ribbon. Her skin was pale for a Torrac, not nearly as pale as his own, but rivalling most of the pure-blood Sakurans like his 'father'. She was fairly slight, only coming up to his shoulder, and yet as she stalked towards him, she seemed less like a slender woman and more like a long dusken shadow, flickering over the damp stone.

She set the tray down on the ground just out of his reach, shooting him a strange look with deep grey eyes flashing in the torchlight. She plucked a little sea-green jar from the myriad arranged upon the tray and straightened, looking into his eyes with her shoulders back and head held high.

"You're not so scary, are you, mua'na berek?" The woman murmured, bizarrely long fingers twisting the cap out of the bottle. "Miko is a fool to fear you."

She casually flipped the cap back onto the tray. One of her thin hands came up to caress the side of his face, long nails running over the bandage plastered to his face with his own blood. She caught the edge and pulled, ripping it off and the stitches along with it. He felt the hot blood coursing down his face, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to remain impassive.

"Heh..." The woman laughed, scraping her fingers through his blood and staining them red. "You're not scary at all."

Her fingers dug into the gap of his jaw, forcing him to open his mouth. She jammed the bottle through his lips, pouring the acrid liquid down his throat. He gagged, swallowed, coughed. The woman laughed, dropping her hand from his face as he retched against the almost alcoholic burn making it's way down his throat.

"The taste is unpleasant, but the elixir works wonders." She tossed her braid over her shoulder, full lips smirking in the most unsettling manner. "By the time Naga'rath gets to you, you'll be fit for whatever he wants to throw at you."

She retrieved the tray and sauntered back to the open door, slipping through with only a smirk and a backward glance. The door shut behind her, leaving him in darkness once again.

Yuki slumped against the wall, the burn slowly spreading through his body and lighting each and every one of his veins on fire. He felt his wounds begin to heal under the influence of the diabolic potion, threads of tissue wrapping around one another and stitching his broken skin back together. He bit his lip, tasted blood, then felt his flesh begin to heal around his teeth.

He ripped his teeth free and resisted the urge to scream.

* * *

Characters used thus far- Margaret's Cheiko, who I have decided is cool and will play a bigger part than originally intended. Margaret's Yoshiro shall be the politician, and Kuroneko Hikage's Cyress shall be the guard. (I know he's supposed to be a nurse, but this fits better into my world.) I still need a nice nurse and the young ward, by the way. 


	8. The Cell, Part Two

The Cell- Part 2

Another short chapter. Many apologies... But there is yet more I need to apologize for. My life is exploding in like, six different directions at once. I have no time. None. Nadah. Zip. Zero. You get the idea. This chapter was written in the wee hours in the morning whilst eating breakfast. It is being uploaded and updated during dinner. The instant I am done this, I need to get working on the hundred other things I need to do. So... The point is, I'm putting this story on haitus until I get my life back under control. Hopefully, it won't take too long, but this is my graduating year, and I need to do well in school and apply for collage and I've also got myself a job making powerpoints for people, and I'm also doing writing and drawing commissions, and... You get the idea. So. When the world calms down and I can find the time to write for fun again, I shall put La Royame at the top of my priorities and try desperately to make up for the lack of updates. My other stories have been written ahead of time, so they shall continue to update normally until I run out of chapters. It's just this one. It takes frickin long to write, and it's all I can do to do one a week.

Anyways, I'm ranting. On to Margret's questions!

Yes, I am truly evil. Hence the haitus in the middle of an imprisoned/being tortured scene... thing. Whatever. I'm glad it makes pictures in your mind, although it's sort of to be expected considering the way I'm 'writing' this story. It's first and foremost a movie within my brain, which I convert to words in the best/easiest way possible. I'm glad you like it, though. Funny you should talk about my future profession, however... I want to be a writer/editor/film maker. I've already started work on four books, a musical, five comics and a short film. All at once. All being worked on simultaneously. It's rather fun, actually, switching between them. OH! Which reminds me. Yet another thing that I'm trying to do... one of my comics is called "Shimmer". It's a boy's love, but slightly different in that one of the boys is actually a girl playing a male character in a videogame. (You need to read the summary to understand... It's on my Livejournal. Just search Jiiachan or Shimmer and it should come up.) Anyways, I'm writing it, and I'm looking for someone else to draw it. I could probably do it myself, but I want to devote my artistic abilities to my other things, and I have a hard time drawing the kind of graphical detail Shimmer needs, being a sci-fi/fantasy work. So if any of you are interested, just send me an email at snowblossomshaw.ca.

And yes, the twins are Hikaru and Kaoru from Host Club. Only demonic and violent. They will show up again and be highly amusing, I assure you.

With much love and apologies, Jiia

* * *

The potion healed his wounds. By the time the burn had faded, his body was as good as new. The chafing on his wrists was gone, and the cut on his cheek and the wound on his head. It even took away the draining exhaustion of battle fatigue and the aches in his arms and legs. He was in better shape than he had been since the war had begun.

The potion did something else, too. It changed something within him. The foul liquid had touched a part of him, something more than throat or lips or stomach. He could still feel it, a cold worm wriggling about in what he could only call his soul.

Yuki had never been a particularily spiritual person. He knew the Arch Deacon far too well to believe anything that came out of his smirking lips. He had always thought that the organized religion was just one more way for rulers to control their people. He didn't believe in the Unnamed God, or ultimate good and ultimate evil. He didn't believe in the soul.

And yet he could find no other way to describe the sensations going on within him other than in those very terms. The Torracan potion that had been shoved down his throat hadn't been medicine at all. It had been magic, dark magic wrought by the fanatical priests of the evil Torracan gods. Theok and Arsis and Chevoah and M'ynn. He had heard their names all his life, known them as demons and devils, the creators of evil on earth and the adversaries of the all-powerful, benevolent Unnamed God. He had never believed it. They were stories created by the Torracan people, just as the Sakurans had created the Unnamed God.

But the _thing_ within him could not be denied. It was like smoke, cold, liquid smoke surrounding him in a chill that had nothing to do with the damp cell. It wrapped around him and penned him in, a more effective prison than any chains. It dug its millions of fingers into him, struggling to get in to the wavering warmth he hadn't even known was there. It was trying to possess him, just as the deacon had always warned his trembling congregation.

The demon had healed his wounds, and now it wanted his body.

"Do you know what is happening to you?"

Yuki's head jerked up, violet eyes flashing bright in the torchlight. The door stood open, the tall golden-haired guard looking at him over his well-muscled shoulder, typical orange Torracan eyes surprisingly sorrowful. The man registered Yuki's gaze and looked away.

There was another man in the room; the man who had spoken, no doubt. He stood in the shadows of the far corner, a bright streak in the darkness. He wore a simple white shift, threaded at the collar. His leggings were white, as well. Even his boots had been bleached, soft leather shining dully in the flickering light. He had never seen a Torracan wearing white before. Then again, he'd never seen a Torracan quite like the one before him.

The man was definitely a pureblood Kakeron. His strong, slender build, angular features and large, slanted eyes proved it beyond a doubt. But all the other signs of Torraccan descent were absent from him. In fact, he looked almost Wraithish. His skin was pure white, without even a hint of rouge. His chest length hair was the same, like raw silk before it has been spun. And his eyes... They were blue. Not the deep, azure blue of Sakuran eyes but rather a bleached, washed out blue. The colour of the edge of the sky.

Albino. The man was an albino.

"I asked you a question, mua'na berek." The man's insidious voice slid out of the darkness like a snake. "Do you know what is happening to you?"

"I'm being held prisoner." His voice cracked and shook; the potion had left his throat raw and numb at the same time.

"Yes. That's right." The man sauntered out of the shadows, twirling a glittering silver blade about his fingers. "Not what I was talking about, but correct none the less."

"I will give you nothing, Torrac." Yuki lifted his chin defiantly, steadfastly ignoring the pounding of his heart.

"Oh, I don't expect you too." The man laughed, a dark, ugly sound that chilled him down to the bone. "That would defeat the purpose, actually."

The glittering blade flashed before his eyes. The albino ran the edge down his cheek, almost gently. He shuddered under the cold metal, disgusted by his own weakness. The pale man smiled.

"After all..."

The tip of the blade nicked the edge of Yuki's chin. He'd done worst to himself shaving, and yet it seemed somehow more terrible than if the man had opened his throat from ear to ear.

The man leant forward, bending down until Yuki could feel the heat of the other's breath against his neck. His long hair brushed against his chest like a thousand tiny spiders. The warmth of his body radiating between the scant space between them was horrifyingly appealing, and it was all he could do to resist arching into it. His breath quickened and shook, and his pounding heart pumped blood through the cut on his chin, a tiny trail running down his slender neck.

"_Taking _is so much more fun."

The tip of the man's tongue, living flame tracing the hot line of blood, setting his skin on fire and making him moan with terror and revulsion and sick, masochistic desire that frightened him much more than anything else ever could.

The Torracan laughed and pulled away, taking the blessed, cursed heat with him and allowing the shameful fire the man's sickening gesture had set in his veins to run rampant. He left Yuki shivering, retching up nothing as the waves of disgust at the man's action and his own appalling reaction to it. He sauntered to the open door, ignoring the silently disproving look the young guard sent his way.

The man paused, looking over his slender shoulder with a disturbing smirk.

"You've drunk of our magic, mua'na berek. You're ours now.

"Get used to it."

He pulled the door shut, and Yuki was alone in the dark once again, kept warm by the dark burning fuelled by the evil the potion had left in his soul.

For the first time in his life, Yuki closed his eyes and prayed. Prayed to be delivered from this place, from the darkness within him and the unholy fire that spread through his body like a flood. He prayed for death, so that he would no longer the stirring heat, the tight press of his pants, the unholy desire the strange Torracan had ignited within his veins.

He prayed with all of his tainted soul, and the Unnamed God in which he had never believed did nothing at all.


End file.
